


Baby, Let Me Take You Home

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the United game, Kevin takes Bryan home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, Let Me Take You Home

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Takes place after [this](http://www.bbc.com/sport/0/football/25115886) game in which Oviedo scored the game-winning goal. 
> 
> 2) If you want to see these two being adorable together and about each other go [here](http://jamespmilner.tumblr.com/post/75661744560) [here](http://jamespmilner.tumblr.com/post/75773355532) and [here](http://jamespmilner.tumblr.com/post/75773677953)
> 
> 3) Mirallas [speaks Spanish](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-2469201/Kevin-Mirallas-Speaking-Spanish-Everton-manager-Roberto-Martinez-helping-me.html). I’m working off of the assumption that he can speak if fluently enough for it to be the primary language that he and Oviedo communicate in. This lets me skip over trying to write two non-native English speakers attempting to speak to each other in English.
> 
> For [allthatconfetti](http://allthatconfetti.livejournal.com/) <3

Bryan sleeps on the coach ride home, fitful and light, the sound of the crowd singing for him still buzzing in his ears. He dreams in starburst snatches. He sees his goal, feels the grass, wet and smooth, under his knees, sees Kevin’s face alight with joy. It all tangles together in his dreams, the noise, the colors - blue and red and green - and the rough, clattering feel of all his teammates hands on him - of Kevin’s hands on him. 

He wakes up to Kevin’s hand on his knee, warm and solid, and the sound of Kevin saying his name. He opens his eyes and, for a moment, he’s not sure what’s real and what’s a dream. “Kevin,” he says before he thinks and Kevin smiles and squeezes his knee.

“We’re here,” Kevin says, “Time to get up.” 

“Okay,” he says and straightens up. His dreams - the game - they’ve left him dizzy - unsteady - and, when he stands up, he sways. 

Kevin rights him, his hands low on Bryan’s hips, and says, “Easy.” He hooks his chin over Bryan’s shoulder. “I’ve got you.” He leans back into Kevin’s chest for a moment. It steadies him. 

He lets Kevin guide him off the coach, his hand pressed low on Bryan’s back. Once they’re out in the breath-stealing cold, Kevin says, “I’m driving you home.”

“I can--” he says, because he has his car, he can get himself home, but Kevin’s already urging him along and it’s easy enough to let him have his way.

He always smiles when he sees Kevin’s car. The boys like to tease him about it but Bryan likes the gold. He likes the way it catches the eye, the way it glitters when the light hits it. It suits Kevin who glitters and sparks, pretty and sharp-edged, always in the center of attention.

Kevin opens the door for him and, if he wasn’t so tired, wasn’t still half-caught in his messy, bewildering dreams, he’d object but, instead, he lets Kevin nudge and prod him into the front seat. 

Kevin always drives too fast, his hands loose and careless on the steering wheel. Bryan turns his cheek into the soft leather of the seat and watches the streets race by in a blur of flickering lights and shadow.

When they reach his house and he gets out of the car, Kevin does too. He guides Bryan up the walk the same way he’d guided him off the coach, his hand pressed low to Bryan’s back. Bryan thinks of saying something, of making a joke of it, of telling Kevin he doesn’t need an escort to his door. He doesn’t. He likes having Kevin’s hand on him. 

On the stoop, he steps away from Kevin and fumbles in his pocket for his keys. He turns back to Kevin, keys in hand, intending to say goodnight, to thank him for the ride. Kevin’s staring at him, like he wants to say something, like he just _wants_. Bryan waits a moment, waits for Kevin to say it, whatever it is he wants to say, waits for him to explain why he’s staring at Bryan that way, but he doesn’t. He’s never known Kevin not to say exactly what he’s thinking. “Do you,” he says, “want to come in?” It’s late, he should say goodnight, but if he says it now, if he leaves Kevin now, he knows he’ll spend the night restless, yearning to know what Kevin’s silence - what his _stare_ \- meant. 

Kevin nods. “Yes. Please.”

“Okay,” Bryan says, “Come on then,” and starts to turn back towards the door. Kevin glances back at his car in the driveway. Bryan rolls his eyes and kicks his foot. “Your car’ll be fine.” Kevin’s stupidly protective of that car. 

“Shut up,” Kevin says and kicks him back. “I just--”

‘Whatever,” Bryan says. He turns and unlocks the door. He pulls it open and lets Kevin go in first. He’s still looking back at his car. Bryan smacks his shoulder and says, “It’ll be fine.” 

He follows Kevin inside and pulls the door closed behind him. He turns away from the door and Kevin’s right there in front of him, watching him the way he’d been watching him on the stoop. In the dimness of the foyer, Kevin looks shadowed and otherworldly, like someone Bryan’s never seen before. “Kevin?” he says and it comes out like a question though he’s not sure what exactly he’s asking. 

“Bryan,” Kevin says, moving forward as he says it, “Bryan,” pushing his way into Bryan’s space, pushing him forward until he has him pressed up against the door. He braces his hands on either side of Bryan’s head so Bryan’s trapped, pinned by the bulk of his body and bracketed by his arms. “Bryan,” he says again, a touch desperate this time, like now he’s the one asking a question, but Bryan’s not sure what he’s asking. 

He feels like he’d felt when he’d been high up on Sylvain’s shoulders, shaky and exhilarated but utterly and completely secure. There’d been nothing to fear up there on Sylvain’s shoulders - he would never have let Bryan fall - and there’s nothing to fear here, whatever’s going to happen. It’s Kevin. Kevin will never let him fall, never let him down. 

He tips his chin up, so he can look Kevin in the eye, and shifts against him, just testing his hold. Kevin makes a low, choked sound and presses impossibly closer. “Bryan,” he says and licks his lips. 

Bryan thinks he’s going kiss him. He wouldn’t mind that, he thinks, not at all. He’s looked at Kevin’s mouth before and wondered - wished. Kevin dips his head and Bryan parts his lips, anticipating a kiss that never comes. He doesn’t have time to be disappointed, though, because Kevin’s talking right in his ear, in a low, ragged whisper that makes him shiver, saying, “Bryan. Bryan, you were so good today, so good-- I want to, I want-- Just, will you let me? Let me, please. _Please._ ” 

He doesn’t know what Kevin wants but he’s not sure it matters. Right now, in this moment, he knows he’ll let Kevin do anything he wants. He presses his hand to Kevin’s chest and Kevin stills, like he’s waiting for Bryan to push him away. His face is still buried in Bryan’s neck. Bryan can feel his breath, warm and humid against his neck, can feel the way it’s coming in short, quick pants. 

He slides his hand up Kevin’s chest, along his shoulder and curls it around the back of his neck. Kevin’s skin is still chilled from being out in the bitter, winter cold. He shudders when Bryan settles his hand on the nape of his neck and says, “Please, Bryan, please just--just let me.” He’s pressed so close Bryan can feel his mouth moving against his throat.

“Okay,” he says, “Kevin, okay.” He presses his fingers against Kevin’s pulse, feels it skitter and jump.

“God, Bryan,” Kevin says and presses his mouth, open and hot, just under Bryan’s ear. Bryan jerks, unprepared for the electric feel of Kevin’s mouth, wet and warm, on his skin. Kevin does it again and Bryan shudders, no more prepared for it the second time than the first. 

“I just,” Kevin says, “Just--” He lifts his head. Bryan tries to smile at him, because he still sounds a little desperate, a little unsure, but he can’t quite manage it. He feels completely disassembled, like he can’t quite control his own body. He can still feel the places Kevin’d put his mouth, even now he can almost feel the heat of it on his skin, even as the wet marks he’d left behind are going cold. 

Kevin smiles at him and, Bryan thinks, surely now he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He drags his hands down the wall and onto Bryan’s shoulders. He straightens the collar of Bryan’s coat, an incongruous gesture that’s utterly Kevin, neat and fussy at the oddest times, then he starts unbuttoning Bryan’s coat, slow and careful, until he has it all the way open. He slips his hands inside, runs them down along Bryan’s ribs and settles them on his hips. 

“I just,” he says, low and hushed and almost reverent, “Just let me.” Before Bryan can ask him, _what? let you what?_ , he’s on his knees, his hands tight on Bryan’s hips, his face pressed to Bryan’s stomach, murmuring, “Let me, please, _please_ ,” the wet, heat of his breath seeping through Bryan’s shirt, sticking it to his skin. 

“Kevin,” he says and his voice shakes, “Kevin.” He reaches out - his hand’s shaking too - and touches Kevin’s hair, just skims his fingertips along the sculpted, gel-sticky, curve of it. 

Kevin rubs his thumbs along Bryan’s hips. He presses his mouth to Bryan’s stomach, just over the knot in the drawstring of his pants, then he looks up. He smiles and says, “Yeah, baby?” The artless sweetness of the endearment startles Bryan. He forgets what he was going to say, forgets about everything but the beguiling tilt of Kevin’s smile. Kevin’s smile’s slipping, though, turning down into a grimace. He’s not sure Kevin meant to say it, thinks maybe, _baby_ had startled him as much as it had Bryan. “Bryan,” Kevin says, “I--”

He presses his fingers to Kevin’s mouth. “It’s--” He stops. “Tell me what you want.” Kevin smiles, sly and sharp-edged, and sucks Bryan’s fingertips into his mouth. “Kevin,” he says, Kevin’s name stuttering out of his mouth before he means to speak, before he can think of anything but the wet heat of Kevin’s mouth around his fingertips, “ _Kevin_.” 

Kevin lets Bryan’s fingers slide out of his mouth and Bryan’s arm flops uselessly to his side. “Let me,” Kevin says and his tone’s gone soft and coaxing, “Please, Bryan, won’t you let me?” 

“Okay,” he says, choked and rough, because Kevin’s mouth is damp and red, and he wants to put it on Bryan, “Yes. Okay.”

Kevin smiles and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Bryan’s pants. 

He puts his hand on Bryan first and then his mouth. When he puts his mouth on Bryan, Bryan can’t stop his hips from jerking forward. Kevin clamps his arm across his stomach and pushes him back. After that, Bryan fights to hold himself still, fights not to just push into the perfect heat of Kevin’s mouth, because he couldn’t bear it if Kevin stopped.

The way Kevin takes him into his mouth is fast and messy and _greedy_. It’s like he wants to get as much of Bryan as he can, as fast as he can, like he’s afraid Bryan’s going to change his mind and stop him. Bryan wants to tell him he can have anything, as much of Bryan as he wants, for as long as he wants. He skims his hand over Kevin’s head, the gelled spikes of his hair are rough against his palm. “Kevin, _Kevin_.” 

Kevin pulls back and smiles up at him. His mouth is wet now, slick and swollen, and Bryan opens his mouth to beg - to _plead_ \- anything to have it back on him. Before he can, Kevin says, “I wanted--” He’s still touching Bryan, stroking him slowly. “ _Fuck_ , Bryan, I wanted to do this right there in the dressing room. Wanted to--” He puts his mouth back on Bryan, just licks at him, sloppy and slow. “Like this,” he says, “just like this,” and slides his mouth down Bryan’s cock.

And Bryan can’t breathe, can’t-- He imagines it, imagines Kevin pushing him against the lockers, imagines him on his knees in front of him, imagines this, what’s happening right now, with their teammates all around, with the shattering, exhilarating joy of the win still reverberating through him. “Kevin, _Kevin_.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, “just like this. You were so _good_ , baby, so-- And I wanted to, right there, right after we came off the pitch.” And Bryan wants to ask him, _only then? only there?_ , but Kevin puts his mouth back on him and he can’t think, can’t speak.

He wants it to last forever but there’s no way it can. It’s too fast, too frantic, too unbelievably _good_ for forever. He fumbles his hand onto Kevin’s shoulder, digs his fingers into the rough wool of Kevin’s coat and chokes out, “Kevin. _Kevin_ , I-- I’m--” And Kevin pushes all the way down and swallows and that’s it, he’s done. 

It leaves him shivering and shaking. If Kevin’s arm wasn’t banded tight across his stomach, holding him up, he would have folded over, collapsed, the slamming rush of pleasure would’ve knocked him to the floor. 

He breathes, in and out, until he’s no longer gasping for air, until his pounding heart slows down. His hand is still locked tight on Kevin’s shoulder. He relaxes his grip, smoothes the rumpled fabric of Kevin’s coat. 

Kevin’s staring up at him. He’s flushed, pink spilling across his cheeks, and his mouth is slick and swollen. He has his lower lip caught under his teeth and he’s breathing in jagged, raspy bursts. He’s shuddering, his shoulder jerking under Bryan’s hand. He’s - 

It takes Bryan a moment - then he gets it - he’s touching himself, fast and furtive, hand shoved in his pants. And he’s watching Bryan, eyes wide, his expression all desperate wanting. Bryan wants-- He wants so many things he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Kevin,” he says, “What’re you--” and Kevin stills and, for just a moment, he looks utterly stricken. Bryan doesn’t like that at all. He clumsily cups Kevin’s cheek, his fingertips catching on the sharp back of his earring. He rubs his thumb along Kevin’s cheekbone. “Are you--”

Kevin interrupts, his words coming fast and jumbled, “I’ll stop, I’ll- Bryan, okay? I’ll--” Bryan doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want Kevin to stop, how can Kevin think that? He just, he wants to _see_ , wants to _touch_. 

“No,” he says, “No, Kevin, I--” He falls heavily to his knees, clattering hard into the floor. “I want to--” He pushes his hands between them, shoving them up under Kevin’s coat, his shirt, until they’re pressed to Kevin’s bare skin. 

Kevin shudders. “You don’t,” he says, “Bryan, you don’t have--” 

“I want to,” he says, quick and sharp, “Kevin, I, _please_.” 

“You want to?” Kevin says slowly, like he can’t quite believe it. 

“Of course,” he says, then he has a truly sickening thought, “Unless-- Unless you don’t want me to?”

“What?” Kevin jerks back. “No, fuck, Bryan--Bryan, you can have anything, you want, okay? I want-- Just, anything, okay, _anything_.”

Bryan curls his hands around Kevin’s waist and leans in. “Like this?” he says, low and soft, and glances his mouth across Kevin’s, “Can I?” Kevin’s mouth is soft and open and Bryan wants to lick into it, wants to taste himself in Kevin’s mouth, wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe, but he waits. 

“Bryan,” Kevin says and he makes Bryan’s name into a broken, jagged thing, “Bryan, baby, _fuck_ , of course,” and then he’s hauling Bryan forward and kissing him, all tongue and teeth and wild desperation.

Bryan scrambles his hands between them, shoves them into Kevin’s pants, and, finally, gets his hand around Kevin. Kevin moans and Bryan can feel it reverberate against his mouth. Bryan pushes the kiss deeper, licks deep into Kevin’s mouth, and jerks him. They’re hopelessly tangled and he can barely move his hand but he barely cares. All he cares about is the feel of Kevin in his hand, the way he tastes like Bryan, bitter and sharp, and the sounds he’s making for Bryan. 

Kevin spills all over his hand, sticky and messy, and gasps against Bryan’s mouth. Bryan rests his forehead against Kevin’s and lets Kevin pants against his mouth. “Bryan, _fuck_ ,” Kevin breathes, pressing a soft, off-center kiss to Bryan’s mouth, “Bryan.” He drops his head down onto Bryan’s shoulder. 

Bryan does his best to untangle them. He wipes his hand on Kevin’s pants and runs it slowly up and down Kevin’s back. Kevin makes a low, murmuring sound and turns his face into Bryan’s neck. Kevin’s still wearing his coat. The whole thing, from start to finish, seems utterly surreal, like it might be just one more restless, feverish dream. But Kevin’s still wearing his coat and that somehow makes it seem solid - real. “You’re still wearing your coat,” Bryan blurts. 

Kevin laughs a little. “So are you.” Bryan opens his mouth to say that, really, that’s all Kevin’s fault, but Kevin straightens up and says, “It’s okay, it, uh, it’ll make it easier to--” He waves his hand toward the door. 

“Go?” Bryan says. He doesn’t want Kevin to go. Now that he’s had his hands on Kevin, touched him, kissed him, he never wants Kevin to go. He wants to _keep_ him. 

Kevin ducks his head. “Well, yeah.” His tone’s gone flat and distant. Bryan doesn’t like it.

“Stay,” he says, rushed and quick, “Kevin. Just-- Stay, okay?” 

Kevin looks up. “Yeah?” He’s smiling just a little. 

Bryan leans in and kisses him. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Mirallas does, in fact, own a [gold Bentley](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-2319377/Kevin-Mirallas-wraps-gold-matt-vinyl-Bentley-Continental-GT.html). Make of that what you will.
> 
> 2) [Oviedo on Distin’s shoulders.](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/12/05/article-0-19D9410D00000578-121_634x441.jpg)


End file.
